


Hang Down Your Head

by clairza



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Angst, M/M, Radio boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairza/pseuds/clairza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you think, Phil,” he says finally and Eugene’s heart squeezes in his chest. “Who would I kill for?”</p><p>(Jack, Eugene, Phil and Zoe and the ethics of killing actual people in a post-apocalyptic world.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hang Down Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> S3 RM spoilers (nothing plot-critical).

It’s not surprising that one night it finally ends up the topic of conversation. It just - the timing sucks. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised by that either.

*

Eugene wakes in the cool pre-dawn to Jack’s breathing coming in quick staccato bursts beside him, Jack’s legs thrashing against the blanket, and it’s still automatic, even after all this time, the way he slings out a hand and wraps it around Jack’s chest, pulls him close. The contact is enough to wake Jack up,  and even in the dimness, Eugene can see the blind-white-rage-panic in his eyes. 

“Hey,” Eugene says, and pushes himself up on one elbow. Jack isn’t looking at him. “You okay?”

“I just - need some air,” Jack says after a moment, and swings himself up and off the mattress, almost stumbles out of the door. Eugene sinks back down and spends the next hour not sleeping. He knows better than to go after him. 

Jack doesn’t come back until breakfast call.

Zoe notices that something is wrong within three minutes of setting up, and sends him _what’s going on_  looks when Jack isn’t watching until Eugene leans over under the guise of fixing her mic and says “nightmare” into her ear. 

He’s 50:50 on whether Phil is oblivious or just has a better handle on Jack than Eugene thought he did, because intentional or not, Phil spends the entire morning giving Jack things to snarl about. Their constant bickering is enough to give Eugene a vaguely throbbing headache, but it works - by lunch, Eugene can see whatever terror Jack faced that morning has mostly faded away, and by the end of the day Jack’s just tired and washed out and irritable. 

That’s far better than Eugene had expected - he can deal with that kind of Jack, it’s not that uncommon - and the shift ends with the usual routine, Eugene cleaning and shutting up while Phil, Zoe and Jack go ahead. Food’s too scarce to risk a guy on crutches dropping his plate. 

It’s late and the summer sun is just falling into the horizon as he stumps across the quad, the air cooler – not cold, but just a bit tingly on his face and fingers. The tent is almost empty, and Zoe and Jack are already sitting down opposite each other at the usual table, Eugene’s meal waiting for him in the spot next to Jack. 

He slides onto the bench - Jack automatically taking his crutches and placing them on the floor - and then he looks down at his plate and his eyes widen. 

“Jack,” he says quietly. “ _Jack.”_

“What?” Jack says, actually sounding slightly worried until he follows Eugene’s gaze. “Oh my God, Gene, you are such a dork.” 

It’s still not quite Jack’s normal tone, but it’s vaguely affectionate and besides, there are actual tomatoes on Eugene’s plate, actual real tiny red tomatoes and he feels some of the tension leave his shoulders just  _looking_  at them. 

And of course, it’s Thursday, which means -

“Question time!” Phil says, and slides his plate and cutlery onto the table with exactly the lack of grace that Eugene has come to expect from him.

Since they have become  _Radio Cabel,_  sorting questions from their actual living breathing not-zombie listeners into categories has become Thursday night dinner entertainment for anyone within three meters of where they are sitting. Jack, of course, has added two extra categories:  _People With The Hots For Jack_ and _People Who Want To Marry Eugene._ So far, Eugene is ahead in that particular battle, although he wouldn’t put it past Phil to have added a few fake proposals via ROFFLENET just to keep Jack grouchy.

“Who has the list?”

“I do,” Zoe answers but Eugene barely hears her because  _tomatoes. Actual tomatoes._

“Well, don’t keep us waiting,” Jack says around a mouthful of food. 

“Oh, right.” Zoe says. She looks down at the paper at her elbow. “First up. Somebody called Lydia would like to know if anyone has any children’s books around to lend her, and preferably some school books – she has an eight year old and an eleven year old.”

“ _Normal,_ ” Phil says.

“Mark wants to know when the book club is meeting – “

“Next weekend, I think – Gene?”

“Sorry, what?” he says, because seriously, _tomatoes._ It’s like heaven in his mouth. His face must look ridiculous because despite everything, Jack’s looking at him with that fond exasperation he’s seen a lot. 

“Book club. When was it?”

“Um,” Eugene says. “Sorry, I was having a moment - ”

“Yes, I know. I know what your moments look like.”

“Very funny. Um, I think it was next weekend? Next Sunday afternoon.”

“How civilised. Will there be tea and cucumber sandwiches?”

He pokes Jack in the ribs. “Zoe, put that in  _Normal_  but action it for tomorrow.”

“Done. Okay, someone called Peter – would that be Peter Acland? You know, Hut 4? - wants to know if anyone has any spare balls around – no, not that kind, Jack,  _seriously_  - because he wants to start some kind of sporting competition.”

“Ooh, _Important_ ,” Jack says.  

“Competitive, are we?”

“I was an actual athlete, you know.”

“Yeah. But.  _Cricket_.”

“A  _batsmen_  and I’ll have you know that takes a lot of upper body strength and cardio-vascular endurance, and well as – ”

“Oh, and yes, here we go.” Zoe says loudly, enough to squelch even Jack’s indignant splutters. “An Ashley is proposing marriage to our fair Eugene. Or at least a life of happiness.”

“Male or female?” Eugene asks, and gets the full weight of Jack’s shoulder into his. “Ooof. Ow.”

“Gender neutral spelling.”  
  
“Well, then - ”

“Fuck off,” Jack says, looking even crosser, and then he pouts. “Why don’t people want to marry me?”

“It’s your hair.”

“Rude.”

“It’s my accent,” Eugene says, and slaps Phil’s hand away from where he was reaching for Eugene’s bread. “Get your own.”

“I though you were finished!”

“I sound very attractive to Australians – ”

“I’m not finished and and there are actually zero Australians here, you idiot – ” 

“You three done?” Zoe says, sounding mostly long suffering. “Anyway, I was joking. It’s your wedding she’s interested in. As in, the two of you. Not you, Phil. She is apparently quite invested.”

Eugene’s brain conjures up an image of Jack in white with his face half obscured by lace, all blue eyes and freckles and  _smiling_  and damn, that should absolutely not make his heart glow a little, but it does.  

“Well, I don’t know about a wedding but I’m happy to talk about a honeymoon,” Jack says, smile shamelessly lecherous and he throws an arm around Eugene’s shoulder, leans in -  

“Filler,” Eugene says decisively, and moves his head so Jack’s mouth hits his cheek. “Next?”

“Filler?  _Filler?_ ”

Zoe rolls her eyes. Eugene rubs his very wet cheek on Jack’s shoulder. Phil blows out a breath through his nose and picks up the paper.

“Right. Maggie wants to – oh, wait. This is sad. She wants to know if by any chance anyone has or has seen a guide dog named Terrance – failing that, if anyone has seen any service dogs at all since, you know. The zombs.”

There’s a moment of heaviness.

“ _Important_ ,” Eugene says finally. “Mark that for tomorrow as well.”

“Righto,” Phil says, and then with a hint of forced jollity: “Next! Are Runner 4’s knitting lessons still on this week?”

“I believe so, yeah.”

“They’re up to collars.”

“Or was it sleeves?”

“Next,” Zoe says. “A shout-out to Amanda, the stunning brunette in  – okay,  _no,_ I am not finishing that sentence. Out loud. Ever.”

“What? No! Tell us!”

“It will impugn Phil’s delicate sensibilities.”

“My what?”  

Zoe reads on, which Eugene thinks is impressive, given she is dodging Jack’s flailing attempts to grab the page. “Do zombies turn different colours depending on how long they’ve been zombies?”

That stops them all for a second.

“Um,” Jack says finally. “Maybe? Maybe, like, the deader you are the paler you get?”

The conversation somehow then dissolves into zombie anti-ageing creams -  _“No, no, can you imagine if a zombie tried to do that “because you’re worth it” hair flick and their head fell off?”_  - and from there into a lively debate over the possibility of  _Britain’s Next Top Zombie Model_ which leaves Zoe actually hiccupping with laughter.

This has been good, Eugene thinks. Jack’s hard angles have softened, one of his thumbs is stroking down Eugene’s neck and despite all the odds, there’s a chance the day might end up with something nicer than than trying to sleep holding a tense and rigid Jack.

Although. Well.

Eugene’s brain has rather enthusiastically taken off down that train of thought when Phil stops his spirited attack on the possibility of  _BNTZM_ suddenly enough for it to be noticeable.

“What?” Zoe says. “Don’t  _you_  think some shambles are still stuck in stilettos?”

“No, no – ”  Phil’s staring at the page, and his jaw is set. “It’s nothing.”

That, of course, means it’s  _something_.

Jack plants his elbows on the table.  “Spill,” he says. “Did another person propose to Gene? I’m okay with it, I swear.”

“No,” Phil says slowly. “No, I’m - I’m pretty sure this one is a joke. I just. Not sure I find it funny.”

“ _Phil._ ”

Phil seems to hesitate, then leans over and shoves the paper into Eugene’s hands. “It’s about the fifth last one.”

Jack slides over inappropriately close so he can read over Eugene’s shoulder, so it takes a moment to find the one Phil is talking about.

 _Hey guys,_  it reads. C _an you please give some tips for killing actual people (not zombies)?_ and just like that, all the light goes out of Jack’s face.

“What is it?” Zoe says.

“Someone wants to know the best way to kill people,” Eugene answers, and it does sound pretty awful, said like that.

“Oh.” Zoe looks uncomfortable.

“Sick sense of humour, some people have,” Phil says.

Jack shakes his head. “No, that’s a legitimate question,” he says, quietly.

Phil’s jaw twitches. “You’ve got to be – you’re joking,” he says, and even cracks a very uncertain laugh. “There is no reason why people should be killing  _people_  out there.”

“That is not entirely accurate,” Jack says, equally lightly, but Eugene can feel tension radiating from where Jack is still pressed against him.

“What do you mean?” Phil says, after a pause.

“People do terrible things,” Jack says, and he moves away from Eugene, two cold inches of space. “They haven’t exactly stopped since the zombs.”

“That doesn’t mean – ” 

“Yeah, sometimes it does.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually – that’s  _murder_ , Jack.”

“Sometimes it’s more – pre-emptive self-defence.”

“Well, that’s a slippery slope, isn’t it!”  Phil’s voice is rising.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jack says, and there it is, that same look in his eyes from this morning. Eugene feels his stomach sink. Zoe reaches a hand out towards Phil but seems to think of better of it and drops it back in her lap.

“You can’t just justify -  _killing people_! All that stands between us and zombies is our _humanity_.”

Jack snorts. “That’s all very nice on your pedestal at all but I hate to break it to you, that is not how the apocalypse is working out there.”

“Oh, because you’d know.”

“Okay, Phil. You think people can just ring 911 when they’re in trouble? You think we can just… lock people up?” His voice takes on a mocking tone that sets Eugene’s teeth on edge. “ _Hey, so,  I found this guy trying to kill my partner because he wanted his supplies. Could you just take him away and put him in a nice gaol cell and feed him when food is already in short supply?”_

“You - there’s got to be a process!”

“A process?” 

“We don’t get to play judge and jury!” 

“ _Then who fucking does?_ ”

It’s loud enough to command the attention of everyone left in the tent.

Jack sucks in a ragged breath and abruptly sits back down the four or so inches he had risen out off the bench, and when he speaks again, his voice is flat and cold. “Phil, everyone’s a killer given the right reason.”

“Maybe you are,” Phil says, his forehead deeply creased. “But I’m not.”

“Really,” Jack says, and it’s not quite a question. “That’s some moral high ground you’ve got going there.”

There’s a flush creeping down Phil’s neck. “I could never – “

“No,” Jack says. “No, until you’re in that moment, Phil, you  _don’t know_. There’s a  _huge fucking difference_.”

Phil’s grip on his fork is actually bending it.

“So what was your reason?” he says, quiet enough but God, the words are so loaded that Eugene actually feels Jack recoil next to him, and his mind flashes back to a night of ice and fire, all-consuming pain and the sound of screams and the feral light in Jack’s as he’d wielded W.G. like a scythe. He feels sick.

There’s a horrible, aching moment of silence.

Then Jack exhales and stares straight at Phil with eyes that are painfully bright. “What do you think, Phil,” he says finally and Eugene’s heart squeezes in his chest. “Who would I kill for?”

Phil looks down first.

“I need some air,” Jack says, for the second time that day, and is gone, canvas swinging shut behind him. 

Eugene stares down at his plate, and then pushes it away from him. His knife slides off and clatters onto the table, too loud in the too-polite quiet. When he looks up, Zoe is watching him, a question written all over her face.

“There are worse things out there than zombs,” he says finally because he has to say _something_. “We found some on the road.”

“Gene - ” Zoe starts, then stops, and her face twists just a bit.  

Getting up is tricky, what with the bench so close to the back of the tent and his crutches caught under the table, and when he’s finally upright and standing, Phil’s staring at Eugene’s leg like he can’t help himself, looking stricken. 

“I guess you can have the leftovers after all,” Eugene says, which is yeah, a bit petty and Phil’s face actually crumples a bit at the edges. Stupid principled Phil. 

“I didn’t - should I - ”

“I’ll handle it,” Eugene says, cutting him off, sounding calmer than he feels. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

*

He finds Jack sitting down outside their shack, leaning forward over his knees, looking out into the darkness. There is no way for Eugene to make a silent entry, so he doesn’t even try. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, and nudges Jack’s foot with his crutch. “You okay?”

“Peachy.”

“I’m serious.”

“Sure you want to poke the bear?”

Eugene slides down next to him anyway and tries to arrange himself for what could possibly be the long haul. He waits. 

There’s a  _one-two-three_  of silence, and then the words tumble out of Jack. “Do you think I’m some kind of monster?”

“Jack – “ Eugene carefully spreads his hand over Jack’s, threads his fingers through and holds on.

“They – they were tied up. We could have left them. That night. We could have.  _I_ could have. Even the one that - ” he gestures to where Eugene’s foot should be and seems to run out of words.

“If we’d left them tied up, the zombs would have gotten them.” Eugene counters. “Same end result, three more zombies.”

He’s been through this argument in his head every time he wakes with a scream tight in his throat and burning pain in a foot that doesn’t exist. It’s a sort-of comfort. Better than nothing.

“I just – “ Jack says. “I - I just – I’m not proud of it, Gene.” He huffs out a laugh but the edges catch, and when he turns to face Eugene, his eyes are dark and liquid and burning and Eugene’s lungs constrict. “I still wake up thinking about it.”

“I know.”

“But I’d do it again.”

There it is again; his heart fluttering against his chest, the feeling of falling. Eugene tries to think of anything to sum up the enormity of what he wants to say. 

“I love you, Jack Holden,” he says finally. “No matter what. Always have.”

Jack blinks, he smiles, and then his face grows tender. “You had me at hello,” Jack says, and then he snickers. “Well, actually at c _ome with me if you want to live,_  if we’re getting specific.”

“You are never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“You are the worst - “ Eugene starts, but then Jack is kissing him, mouth warm and open, and if when Eugene slides his thumbs across Jack’s cheeks to hold him in place, they are wet, neither of them mentions it.  
  
Easier that way.


End file.
